


Our Greatest Weakness

by Plankto



Category: Agatha Christie's Poirot (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21711649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plankto/pseuds/Plankto
Summary: While trying to get Poirot to relax after a difficult case, Hastings accidentally discovers, that Hercule Poirot, who claims to not have any weaknesses, does in fact have one. His weakness also turns out to be Hastings weakness...Yet another story based around a drawing - I couldn't help myself.Translations are in end notes.
Relationships: Arthur Hastings/Hercule Poirot
Comments: 9
Kudos: 44





	Our Greatest Weakness

I watched, with utter fascination, as one of the most impossible sights was spread before my very eyes: Hercule Poirot, the enthusiast of dishes most refined and self-proclaimed enemy of the English cuis… ekhm, excuse me, English _food_ (according to him, the English don’t have cuisine, they merely have food), was eating fish and chips from a food stand! It was truly one of those things, that you are blessed to see only once in your lifetime. That is quite sad, if one thinks about it this way: I couldn’t imagine a day without some delicious, fried English food!

“You have to admit it, Poirot, English cuisine is truly great.” I said hoping, that he will finally cave in and admit it.

“When it is dark and there is nothing else available, then it is… passable.” I knew, that coming from Poirot, this was the highest praise, that he was ever going to give to the barbaric foods of the English.

I didn’t respond. Instead, I kept watching him eat, mesmerized by the unusual sight. Poirot was sitting in my Lagonda, eating one potato chip after another. He was eating so quickly, that his moustache was twitching in a funny way. There was something very charming, in an innocent type of way, in this highly elegant man, in his perfectly fitting and spotless overcoat, eating fried food from a cheap street vendor… and secretly enjoying it! And good God! He was trying so hard to apply his proper manners to the task of eating fish and chips. But he really must had been hungry – he was eating so fast! Poor, hungry old boy!

“You keep observing me, _mon ami 1_. Do I amuse you?” Poirot asked, glancing at me.

“Why of course not!” I said innocently, but kept on smiling to myself as I took my seat at the driver’s wheel of the car. Poirot kept eying me suspiciously so I added “It’s just that this moment reminds me about my teenage years. A spontaneous trip to the vendors at a late evening with someone special… It brings back memories, I say!”

For a moment, I got lost in reminiscing about my youth. When I came back from reliving an innocent moment of my past I noticed, that my love had been observing me with a gentle smile.

“ _A randez-vous 2_ with a chestnut-haired girl, _n’est-ce pas 3_?” He asked in that knowing tone, which I knew so well by that point. Always a detective… and yet, he wasn’t fully correct this time.

“not quite a rendezvous and not with a girl.” I explained quietly – we were still in public, after all even though, for once, nobody paid attention to us.

“Ah, I see.” He nodded in understanding. “But it is in the voice; the manner in which you speak about it makes it clear, that he was more than a friend: a sympathy perhaps?” His voice was very quiet and incredibly soft – he understood. I wish I knew more about my dearest Hercule and his early self-discoveries. Perhaps, one day, he shall tell me. In that moment, I was just content with sharing my stories with him. And so, I continued:

“Yes. He was my sympathy, but I couldn’t comprehend that at the time… you know, I couldn’t put it into words.” Poirot gave a small nod at that. “I thought, that this feeling was simply what friends feel towards each other. In the end, it never went any further than friendship.” I shrugged, looking absent-mindedly at the people, who were gathering at the vendor’s booth.

“I suppose, that all men of our kind go through a similar experience: such is the nature of the discovery, it is bitter-sweet. Liberating and yet, so full of longing. _Tout the m_ _ême 4_ , one must always accept the truth for what it is, in order to keep moving forward. Only by doing so, one can eventually reach a true happiness, one that is not obscured by delusion.”

I took a closer look at my companion. Poirot didn’t get sentimental often. I suspected, that it had something to do with the case, that had been looming over him for two years and which he had finally managed to close today.

“And… what was the truth regarding today’s case?” I asked carefully. “I bet it was an ugly one…”

“It was indeed. It was not a new revelation to me, I must say. It was merely a reminder of how monstrous human nature can be. Humans, Hastings, are a tragic representation of _le bon Dieu’s 5_ creation, that has been spoiled by eating the forbidden fruit. Feelings, they start as innocent but end up subduing, mingling as the time goes on. How often do we hear about love turning into hate? Or into revenge? Or perhaps, going as far as being entirely ruined by greed?”

“All the time while we’re working on solving cases together.” I agreed, saddened. “You’ve been dealing with crime much longer than I have . To be quite honest with you, I admire you – both for knowing how to act when the worst case scenario happens, and for never losing your compassion and faith in people’s innocence.” I confessed, feeling the need to comfort him somehow. I couldn’t hug him here, in public, so I locked our hands together discreetly. “You are a truly beautiful person.” I said and I meant each and every word with all my heart.

Poirot smiled at me lovingly, his eyes still bearing the traces of sadness.

“One has to keep believing in humanity, despite all the vile things, that it is capable of. For twenty murderers, there are at least ten good Samaritans and, most definitely, four dozens of victims who demand justice. And papa Poirot will not let them down, _bien sûr! 6_” He squeezed my hand tightly. “This is also the reason why I adore the peaceful moments, such as this one. Poirot, he enjoys your company greatly, _mon cher 7_. Your nature, it is an honest and innocent one. Poirot knows, that you would never deceive him.” His eyes twinkled playfully.

“…You can see through me, peer into my thoughts almost always and I am miserable at lying.” I voiced out lout, what had been implied by his statement, with a grin.

“ _Percisement! 8_ Your honest nature is truly captivating!” He chuckled.

“I say, it is both a weakness and an asset.” I said, munching on my food: like Poirot, I started to get hungry.

“Personally, I have to insist, that your occasional lack of table manners is a bigger weakness of yours, than your occasional naivety. One must never let oneself go, _mon ami_.” Poirot was back to his usual, affectionate scolding.

“do you even have any weakness yourself, old boy?” I teased.

“ _Non! 9_ Hercule Poirot is spotless in every regard!” He puffed his chest proudly. The gesture had made me grin.

“Aww come on, Poirot! It’s impossible to apply table manners while eating fish and chips in the car!”

“That is a clever observation indeed, Arthur. I will admit it, the fish, it is not bad. Although I have to say, that this manner of covering a piece of fish in an excessive amount of breading and tossing it into a pan full of oil is an insult to every chef, who specialized in fish cuisine! And also, the amount of grease could most certainly kill someone but… Why are you laughing, _mon cher ami? 10_”

“You keep complaining and yet, you ate all of it!” I said happily. “I’m so glad, that I got to take you on a date night in a car like this.” I whispered, so that only Poirot could hear. “I mean, fancy dinners and evenings at the opera house are jolly good, but I’m enjoying tonight as well.”

“I am enjoying this little escapade with you as well. We were even able to elicit some youthful memories of yours, eh?” He kept smiling at me with fondness.

‘He looks really handsome tonight’ – I thought to myself at that moment – ‘in my Lagonda, under the stars of London.’ Meanwhile, Poirot continued:

“I do believe, that this time however, we will write an ending quite different to this story, than the one which had happened to the young Arthur, is that not so?”

Oh how much did I regret, that I couldn’t give into the moment and kiss him! Apparently Poirot had realized this, because he gave me a playful smile.

“Patience, _mon cher_. Soon, you will get what you desire. Soon…” 

***

“I have been longing for you the entire day, _mon amour 11_.” Poirot whispered against my lips and claimed them for himself.

We were sitting on the bed in our bedroom, already partly undressed, and kissing. Hercule’s hands were stroking my sides gently. I could instantly tell, that the entire evening spent on having to restrain the way he speaks to me, was too much for him to bear, because now, he kept whispering _mon amour_ , _mon adore 12_, _mon plus cher 13_ and other affectionate names over and over again. I loved that Gallic passion of his. Although, judging by his languid kisses, tonight he was in the mood for affection rather than lovemaking. No wonder, after all he had just completed a difficult case.

After Poirot closed a difficult case, I used to surround him with extra care and spoil him with affections – he needed to relax and rest properly (not that there was a single moment, when I would _not_ spoil him, for Poirot knew how to effectively use his natural charm and make me do everything for him…)

And so, keeping my darling’s needs in mind, I gently lied him down on our bed, settling beside him. I kissed him slowly, enjoying the unspoken permission given to me: the permission to take the control from his hands. My hands started to travel down his frame, exploring lazily. I was petting his arms, his torso, his stomach… I adored that round belly of his and so, I couldn’t help myself and pinched it gently.

Suddenly, Poirot chuckled, breaking my focus. I blinked, staring at his face.

“do not, _mon adore_ …, not here. I am- ah, how do you say it in English?”

“You’re ticklish?” I grinned. Really? Now that was adorable!

“Ah yes, that. So if you could- w-what a-hehehe-re you doing?” He cackled softly as I squeezed his belly again. What a beautiful sound!

“Ha! I found it.” I announced proudly. He sent me a questioning look so I elaborated “You said, that you don’t have any weaknesses and yet, here we are!”

“Non non non! This does not constitute as a weakness, _croyez-moi! 14_” He tried to move away from me, but I did not let him. I stopped/hugged him with my arm and, wasting no time, started to tickle him.

Poirot has lost it completely in mere seconds – his belly, as it turned out, was ridiculously ticklish!

“ _Non! Non non non! M-mo-hohoho-n amour!_ ” He begged through laughter. He was shaking violently now, trying to fend off my hand.

I was watching him in pure delight.

It was rare to hear him laugh so openly. He was far too polite for that. At most, he would let out an amused little chuckle. He has been more open when we were alone but still, he had never laugh this loud before! Yet again I was reminded, that if I wanted to, I could make Poirot very loud in the bedroom…

I kept on tickling his stomach, squeezing his sides occasionally. My love had been thrashing around by that point and letting me hear more of that loud, beautiful laughter.

“ _C’est assez! 15_” The fact, that he was still able to formulate coherent sentences in French, while laughing, was actually quite impressive.

“Say, what was it, that you’ve told me before, darling? ‘Poirot is spotless in every regard’? How about this spot, then?” I asked cheerfully and gently pinched his belly again. More chuckles followed. “Or this spot?” I poked, through the layers of clothing, where his belly button would be. His chuckling became more high-pitched so I repeated the motion a few more times. “Oooh and how about here?” I tickled up and down his side. His laughter had become more panicked, tears forming in his eyes.

“Poirot takes back w-whahahahahat he sa-hahaha-id before!” He laughted out, catching my hand. “you are not innocent at all! You enjoy torturing me!” He exclaimed dramatically.

“Your weakness is just too endearing to resist.” I whispered into his ear.

“Weakness this is not.” He squeezed my hand tighter. “Poirot, he was able to resist you in the end.” He looked oh so proud of himself. I couldn’t resist the temptation.

“He was still grasping my hand so, instead of trying to free it, I bowed down and pushed my face against his stomach, tickling him with my mouth instead. The surprised gasp and the wave of adorable laughter, that had followed after it, was well worth it.

It was then, that I finally understood, that this was our shared weakness. Tickling was Poirot’s greatest weakness… and his laughter was mine. I was completely mesmerized by that laugh and I couldn’t get enough of it.

“Non non non non non! Ha-hahahaha-stings! _S’il vous plaît! 16_ I a-hahahahaha-dmit d-defeat!” He begged with tears in his eyes.

I may not be truly innocent but I am not one without mercy. And so I stopped, snuggling up to him instead and admiring the effects of my work with delight. After he finally caught his breath, he was looking way more relaxed than before. He stretched a little.

“You are truly impossible, _mon cher Arthur._ ” He scolded me with a warm smile. His hand found its way to my hair, combing through it affectionately. I chuckled in response, very pleased with myself.

“I promise to keep your only weakness a secret from the world.” I offered, jokingly.

“Please do so, _mon adore_! For if anybody finds out the truth, my career would be ruined!” He joked back.

“All the evil-doers would immediately flock to you, trying to overpower you with tickling!”

“…Right now, one ticklish evil-doer in my life is enough.”

“That’s ‘tickling’ evil-doer, not ‘ticklish’, Poirot.” I corrected. His eyes suddenly had that dangerous green gleam to them.

“I know what I said, _mon amour_.” His hand had swiftly moved from my hair to my neck, fingers scribbling all over it.

“Oh no-hohoho!” I yelped. I had it coming – so I forced myself to stay in place and just kept giggling helplessly.

“You are not running away, eh? How noble of you, _mon courageoux capitaine! 17_” He kept tickling under my chin. “your honest nature is something truly captivating: you are allowing me to avenge my pride… and yet, I do not wish to punish you, _mon plus cher_.” He whispered softly and cased his teasing.

I pushed myself to my elbows and kissed his lips. He responded enthusiastically. He pulled me into a very tight hug and deepened the kiss.

“ _Je vous adore, mon amour. 18_” Poirot confessed after our lips had parted.

“I admire and love you so much, my love.” I murmured back and claimed his lips again.

We kept exploring each other as if it was the first time. When we finally went to sleep, Poirot was a very happy and spoiled man – I personally made sure of that. And I, as well, had been given plenty in return. With each and every day spent together, with every case solved by his side, with every secret discovered and kept secure, we were steadily growing closer. Perhaps, this is the true happiness - one, that is not obscured by delusion; one, that Poirot was talking about earlier that evening.

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> 1\. “My friend”  
> 2\. “A date”  
> 3\. Here: “wasn’t it?”/”Am I not right?”  
> 4\. “Regardless of everything”  
> 5\. “Good God’s”  
> 6\. “for sure!”  
> 7\. “My dear (one)”  
> 8\. “Precisely!”  
> 9\. “No!”  
> 10\. “My dear friend”  
> 11\. “My love”  
> 12\. “My adored”/”My love”  
> 13\. “My dearest”  
> 14\. “Believe me!”  
> 15\. “That’s enough!”  
> 16\. “Please!”  
> 17\. “My brave captain!”  
> 18\. “I adore you, my love.”


End file.
